Scarred
by WoofQuack'ed MeowRoar
Summary: Moments before his death, Scar reflects on his life. Written from Scar's perspective. Oneshot.


**Title: **Scarred  
><strong>Rating: <strong>K+  
><strong>Summary: <strong>Moments before his death, Scar reflects on his life. Written from Scar's perspective.  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>Lion King does not belong to me, sadly.

* * *

><p>Gravity. I was going to die because of gravity, something which I could not even see. How pathetic was that? I, who had been king, had lost to something I could not see. I hate gravity, like how I have hated practically everything in my life.<p>

I knew Simba was shouting something at me, but I could not hear him over the roaring wind. It did not matter anyway. I paid no heed to his pathetic words. Like how I had not paid heed to _them. _They did not matter to me, so why were _they_ flashing before my eyes, a replay of my hateful life.

A young cub with mud red hair and a long, black mane that only sprouted from the top of his head and fell to his skinny back appeared. I was alone, in a bush staring at other cubs with thick, golden hair that shone in the sunlight. My eyes were dark and stormy, staring at the others with a mixture of resentment, hate and a tiny bit of jealousy. The laughter of the females irked me tremendously. The roaring of boastful remarks from the males annoyed me to no end.

"Scar! Come out here!"

Urgh, that hateful name that his parents had branded me with. Scars were wounds that healed, but would forever be on the skin, an irritating flaw and reminder of the bad. Maybe that was precisely why they had named me that. That couple, who people call the king and queen, who I called my parents, hated me. That was why they gave me this name. That was why they had treated him _that _way.

Leaving the bush, which had become my sanctuary, I answered my brother who had called me.

"Yes, brother?" Sarcasm laced my words as I approached Mufasa's circle of friends.

Ignoring the sarcasm in my voice, Mufasa introduced me loudly to his friends.

"Everyone! This is my brother, Scar!"

All Mufasa's friends slapped me on my back, in a friendly way. However, every slap delivered at my back hurt my scrawny self. The girls greeted me, but I did not spare them a glance. I knew that if Mufasa called me here and introduced me to his friends, there was something he was up to.

"Enough with the chitchat, what do you want with me?"

"No need to be so rude to your _elder_ brother, Scar." Mufasa emphasised 'elder' giving him a warning look before continuing.

"Let's have a duel."

Hearing those words, I gave Mufasa a disbelieving look. He knew I would never win him in a physical fight. There must be something going on. Just as he was about to reject Mufasa, his rowdy male friends start cheering and whooping.

"Come on Scar, you aren't chicken are you?" One of Mufasa's friends teased. It was obvious he belittled me. Anger flared inside of me and I glared at him. Before I could think rationally about my decision, I had stomped to Mufasa. Standing before him, I was half a head shorter than him.

"Ready, Scar?" Mufasa asked. However, before I could reply, Mufasa had already lunged himself at me. His paws scratched my face with such speed; I was blinded by his blurred paws. This way of attacking was so ungraceful, all done on impulse without thought. It was so unlike the grace of a feline. I always wondered why we were of the same family as them, seeing as how uncouth we big lions are.

Momentarily blinded, I wildly flailed my arms around, trying to swing a hit at Mufasa. However, my attempts were futile.

Soon, I was pinned to the ground with Musafa's paw resting on my stomach. At this humiliation, I realised why my brother had asked me for this duel. It was to boast to his friends about his strength. And all his dumb friends took the bait, thinking he was so strong, not knowing that I would not be able to win _any_ combat.

It was at this time, my father came to see what the commotion was about. Seeing the king of Pride Land, all knelt down in respect, except for me, who was laying on the dirt. Even when kneeling, Musfasa refused to let go his source of boasting, namely me.

"Ma! Pa! Look!" Mufasa gleefully called out to our parents, showing his product of having a physical fight with me.

"Now, Now, get your paws off your brother. After winning, you should help your opponent up instead of pinning him down and leaving him there." My father chided, yet there was a certain pride in his voice, as if knowing his heir was strong lived up to the reputation of the generations of kings in Pride Land.

Hearing his father's words, Musfasa's face fell and the paw resting on my face lifted and fell to the ground with a thud. This drew attention to me, and I could see disappointment flash in my father's eyes, as if his lost in this duel had tarnished their reputation.

"Pa! Look! Look!" It seemed as if Mufasa had found something else that caught his attention and wanted to show it to our father. His friends, curious as well, ran to Mufasa's side to see what it was. And there lay me, the young me with mud red hair and a weird mane, lying on the dirt. Staring at the crowd, he felt resentment and hate coursing through my body.

The lonely image of me disappeared in a flash as my body slammed the ground. I expected it to hurt, but it did not. It seemed as if he was already a spirit who had already left the body and is only observing his death.

At this time, another replay started to flash before my empty eyes. It was the birth of Mufasa's child, a young boy named Simba. It was ironic wasn't it? Me, thinking about a birth of new life when I am about to die. However, it seemed like memories did not hold irony in regard for it showed him himself much older, still with that mud red hair.

Everyone was joyful at during that occasion, with the exception of me of course. Looking at that cub, which had the same thick golden hair like his father, irked me. This child was going to be like his father, liked, respected, strong and everything not _me_.

His birth was an extravagant event, with feasts and rituals. From what I had heard from the hyenas, my birth was not celebrated to an extensive length. In fact, it was a rather simple and bland one, a complete opposite of what Mufasa's, the heir to the throne, had been. Unfairness struck my heart, and that was when I had made a decision.

The decision to become king. To become the lion with great power, the lion who was respected and worshipped. To become liked, to be _not_ lonely.

And now, back to present time, as the hyenas feasted on my body, I felt relieved for the first time. For now I was going to break free from the control of gravity, and become a soul. I was going to leave all the hate, resentment and jealousy behind. I was going to leave this hated world without regrets. For I was king once, and was a king when I died.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **This was written for school after we were brought to watch The Lion King musical, and the character Scar had intrigued me. Reviews are appreciated. I would accept flames as well, as I feel that any feedback can help me improve. Thanks for reading! :)


End file.
